Exploration of the Mind
by Linkbane
Summary: An AU exploration of psychology, relationship, and love between Rokudo Mukuro and Chrome. There will be action, but emotion and thought are the two guiding factors of this story, while other characters are nearly absent. Mukuro-centric, but with perspective of both him and Chrome. Reading is free!
1. Act I, C I

A Reborn story, manga unvisited for over a year. An AU story about Chrome, her struggles with loneliness, and Mukuro's alternating concerns of her well-being and his morals, with exploration of the mind of an illusionist behind Mukuro's body being truly inside Vendicare Prison.

The first Chapter. Perhaps some introductions should be made. Chrome herself is newly fifteen, Mukuro time immemorial. Setting is a nondescript small city, her living in a comfortable apartment.

Act I: Dependence

Chapter I

Chrome sometimes wished she could hide her innermost thoughts from him. Which, as she had repeated to herself, was hugely selfish, he was sacrificing his mental power to keep her alive, a dying girl who previously had no association with him other than chance. It was not as if he was a recorder on her brain, rather a detector who could sense when she was highly aroused, whether that was in danger, sadness, or, unfortunately, adolescence's clutches. She unconcernedly drifted as she walked on the rather empty sidewalk, the sky indicating a time around mid-evening with the sun lazily drooping to her apartment building.

As it turned out, perhaps drifted a little too much. Her left boot felt air where there should have been pavement, coupled with her self-chiding and thought caused her to slip, and in perfect timing, a white van quickly envelops her view, headlights aglow and right about to strike her, not even having the time to consider moving out of the way. Chrome's mind races backwards, remembering the car from her 'fatal' accident. Red, she thought, and much smaller than this vehicle. She tried to repress the memory of the hospital, the endless, mindless solitude, the loneliness which she had never exited. And then..

_Mukuro_. The single thought rang in her mind like a silver spoon upon a crystal glass. And then she felt his powerful aura, that which others perceived as mysterious and dark, yet which she saw as a silent blanket, a coat of calmness, his passionate fervor and quiet, almost playful speech so distinct yet melding effortlessly as bubbles in clear champagne.

Tires shriek as she and the vehicle veer off course, the mirror clipping her uniformed shoulder as she stumbled back onto the sidewalk, giving a hasty look back only to see the van stopped dead, haphazardly crashed on top of the opposite sidewalk. She briefly thought about checking on the driver, but the pain in her shoulder and panic immediately persuaded her against; Chrome ran as quickly as possible back to her own second-story abode, which was opened by a still-shaking arm. As impatiently as one could ever see her, she locks the door, searching for him.

"Mukuro-sama?" she asked tentatively, speaking to the general air.

"_Inquite virum, et vir advenibit_," came her present, if tired guardian in musing Latin. His deep, almost always amused lilt was absent from his voice tonight as he noticed her uniform torn over the shoulder, his eyes low in disappointment. His physical form slowly manifested itself as innumerable particles forming into the Mukuro she knew so well, who took a single step and probed her shoulder. Chrome appreciated him not wandering her mind for the wound, for her thoughts would be awkward enough if revealed. Chrome shyly looked up at his face, tracking from the ends of his hair to his eyes, which flickered. She believed for a fraction of a section that she saw the character 'six' in his eye, rather than the normal 'one' when manifesting like this.

'_He was probably strengthening my illusory organs_,' Chrome thought, relaxing as his hard, but gently applied hand felt out her injured shoulder, without further escalating the pain. He pronounced it not internal bleeding, but rather a large, serious bruise. As if he knew the layout of her new apartment (which wasn't difficult, considering it was a single-bedroom apartment with the kitchen and living room making it resemble a square 'U'), Mukuro removed a handful of ice from her freezer and with unnecessary flourish, crushed it into tiny pieces with his fingers, placed it in a thin plastic bag and searched fruitlessly for something in the cabinets.

"Mukuro-sama, if you are looking for tape.." Chrome spoke tentatively, but with more confidence than her usual stammer, striding into her room and removing a blue first-aid box from her cabinet, which she took a measure of tape from. Conveniently, the very man materialized hardly a foot in front of her, with almost a Cheshire grin upon his lips, evidently growing after seeing his charge's blush and averted eyes.

"No need to be so flustered, Chrome. I need you and you need me, but this is only the body of my prime. My true self is devoid of any muscle, floating in a tank in the Vendicare," Mukuro lectured jokingly, if bitterly. Chrome did not take the humor well.

"I.. I wish that I could help you with your body, like you did for me," she remarked, having grown even more meek in her concern. Mukuro chuckled at hearing this in a rather dishonest manner.

"I think that even I would be rather appalled with myself, evil as they may call me, if I were to use you in such a way, Chrome-chan," he remarked offhandedly, now putting her into full-blush as she realized what he was implying, but smiling at her realization that he didn't mind having fun at her expense; he rarely got the chance to smile at anyone other than her. Mature as he may be, boys were still boys and he couldn't open up around Ken and Chikusa like he did with her, whom he shared a mental and physical bond with.

Not minding his rare moment of slight perversion, she gave him a warm hug; his presence so detailed that she could even smell the pineapple scent that Ken had dare shower him with. First it was touch, feeling the cloth jacket and shirt underneath with her face. Mukuro seemed taken rather aback, but obviously not too unhappy about the idea as he placed his arms around his girl. There was nothing to distract them from each other as their thoughts melded, with only each others' deepest personal thoughts hidden.

'_How goes the trident training, still refusing to use a blade? - It's-It's going fine. Why do you keep on insisting that I don't use a trident, like you? - Because it's for the wrong reason. You're only doing it because I am, and that's simply hindering you. - Rather than what? _

At that, Mukuro removed himself from their mental and physical link, stepping back and placing his hands on her shoulders, the customary ask for consent that he was beginning an immaterial illusion upon her. Chrome closed her eyes, allowing the new mental image to take hold of her mind.

_Illusory World_

Mukuro had taken the liberty of putting the two of them in a circular chamber filled with invisible lighting, almost like a painting. They stood five paces apart, weapons in hand, Chrome with her six foot long trident, and Mukuro wielding a meter-long foil.

The illusionist beckoned, and on his cue Chrome charged forwards with a piercing thrust to his left elbow, expecting a parry, trying to use the right blade to strike him with. Mukuro smiled, in that perpetually indulgent manner. He took his guarde, retreating out of distance, beating the shaft of her trident with enough force to interrupt her follow-up. But instead of continuing forward, Mukuro waited for another attack. This time Chrome chased him back and lunged with her trident, a full nine feet of reach in front. Without moving to evade, he parried the weapon, stepping in and lunged himself, flying forwards and striking the button on her coat with the most minute force.

"My my, little Chrome. One must always be ready to defend and counterattack," Mukuro chastised, frowning slightly. The spoken girl still felt the tiny urge to run over and cuddle with his leg, to apologize under his gaze. But that would never earn his respect. She nodded, the two returning to their previous positions. Chrome held her trident close to her body, pointing it at her opponent, circling with a constant threat, while her opponent did the same just out of her reach; and then she realized that he was allowing her to set the pace of the bout, her own distance. The first thing she remembered Mukuro teaching her on fighting; never waste the attack. So she waited, coiled and intense; his blade was much faster than her trident.

"Hmm, impressive footwork. But that alone will not defeat me," Mukuro complimented backhandedly, stepping forwards in an obvious attack.

It was no trouble for Chrome to see it; she thrust forward with intention to stab him with all three prongs. But he was just an inch out of distance; now that she had used her force, Mukuro quickly advanced upon her, which she predicted, drawing her arm back from her fake extension and hitting him lightly with the middle spike. He smiled genuinely at this, knowing she could see through his physical illusions and not only mental. Walking over, he ruffled her amethyst hair and breathed in deeply, knowing soon that he would have to retreat back to the Vendicare. He sighed, impossible to read as always, Chrome unsure of why he was more tired than usual, though the thought was quickly banished from her mind as he lay his head upon her weapon shoulder, of which she dropped immediately in surprise.

"M-Mukuro-sama?" she stuttered out, awkwardly holding him around the shoulders. The tired illusionist reassuringly patted her again, stepping backwards with another mysterious smile.

"Prepare yourself," he declared, brushing his gloved hand over his left eye, the numeral blurring out and being replaced with the 'four', the realm of demons, augmenting his combat abilities to new levels. Chrome barely saw the flicker of violet Mist flames over his eye as he moved so quickly that she immediately retreated into the defensive, drawing the trident back and spinning it in a protective barrier of metal and wood.

"Didn't I say you always needed to be ready to-" Mukuro sprinted forth, striking the piece of wood between her hands, stepping forward and holding the tip of his blade to her throat.

"Counterattack?" he asked rhetorically, his face showing visible displeasure. "A warrior never gives up her ability to attack for defense except in a single moment, a single action. The turtle, after all, never defeated the owl," Mukuro lectured, his gaze unintentionally softening as he laid eyes upon his disciple and vessel.

"The trident is simply a tool for casting and tearing illusions. But you, like me, have more than a single ability-" (at this, he gestured towards her eyepatch) "of which to defeat opponents. Just like mist, you must be able to envelop the enemies but constantly gauge your needs; a strong breeze will blow away a weak mist," and with this, Mukuro finally gave his customary smile, beckoning with his hand. Chrome meekly walked over, and the two retreated from the illusion back to the apartment.

_Real World_

With only a few dregs of stamina left, Mukuro sat down, Chrome doing the same. He looked intently into her crystalline eyes, his Path returning to the first, taking her right hand in his and exploring the pale skin, soft as the feathers on Mukurou, yet with a few marks from her use of the trident. Gradually, tired from the shared illusions, Chrome laid her head upon her knees, drifting into a restful slumber.

"Oya? How troublesome.." Mukuro mused, standing to pick up the slumbering girl, only two years younger than he, in both arms. The slight weight was reassuring, reminding him of how real she was, and bitterly of how she would probably recoil at the sight of him. But either way, it was not a time for such thoughts, it was a rare moment of solitude when with her, and he had never taken the slight upturn of his lips in his thinking. Resigned to his fate, Mukuro walked smoothly across the carpet, imagining for just a moment that they were back in his native Italy, in the cherry ballroom of the formerly large Estraneo, flying across the floors in ethereal joy, her in that white dress, him in black battle gear; away from the ignorant, omnipresent scum of ignorant hatred and simply with each other in mind's eye, their bodies setting the pace, like an earthly paradise.

But then Mukuro shook himself righteously. Chrome was not the kind of person who would be well-suited by a man who had resided in hell and heaven longer than earth- it would weaken her fierce strength, smother the innocence. As such a dark human, Mukuro could not help but want to show others his world, the crystal infected with obsidian, but Chrome was something else entirely, a mirror that let him realize how far he had gone, yet still loved him for his slyness, seeing his care beyond the impenetrable barrier of his personality; literally, the first to be inside his mind. And for this reason, just like Narcissus and the water, he could not help yearning to gaze at his reflection forever, to ponder how deeply he had fallen, and smile in self-mocking bitterness as the man who could have everything could still not have the one thing he truly wanted, in the cruelest irony that he could not take such advantage of her, and he knew of how easy it would be.

After such self pondering, the man checked himself- hardly enough energy to stay around another few minutes, let alone fantasize about dancing like a teenage Michelangelo. Hardly even noticing his surroundings, he opened her bedroom door to a rather unpleasant site.

A comfortable bed off to the right, Ken's 'borrowed' game system wired to her television on the left, and a computer on the far right corner. But that was fine. The opposite was thought about the strewn debris, paper, cables, and random refuse, which he wasted no time cleaning, rather halfheartedly considering the dilemma of whether to let Chrome sleep in her Kokuyo uniform or to undress her for a cleaner sleep.

X

Hey. As this is the author's corner, it's my turn to introduce myself. I wrote the combat as accurately as I could; I've been fencing slightly over a year and it's really my passion, so it's going to naturally be a little more than the usual spiel you get. Hopefully the story gets rather popular, but I must say that as an author I rarely plan the plot beforehand. Also, as you may have noticed from the style of writing, mine is more psychology of the person and my own ideas of emotion than of simple action and fluff. The terms feel a little numb after seeing how coherent actual explanation generally makes others seem to me, but I haven't written specifically for fanfiction in a very long time. Hope this was enjoyed, and I'll try to stick to a 2000 words of content minimum for all of my chapters. Good day, fellow explorers.


	2. Act I, C II

Chapter II

Told from Chrome's perspective of the next few days while Mukuro is recovering his strength to utilize the sixth path, self-thoughts, and perhaps complications.

Chrome emerged from a drowsy world, eye closed in a moment of self-indulgence, before her thoughts rushed back into her head, realizing it was the first night of unburdened sleep she had in such a long time. The last thing she had remembered was being hardly awoken by his gentle touch, being moved around in some sort of graceful dance and losing herself to sleep in the lullaby of his body and presence.

She opened her eyes to a remarkable sight; her room, clean. Gone were the remnants of random history scattered across her floor, instead it all seemed to have gathered in the wastebasket. Unfathomable, but as he was the only one in her home yesterday, Mukuro could have been the only one to do such a thing. With that came his words when they were locked in battle; perhaps not as philosophical as a thinker, but more so than usual.

'_Mist? Enveloping, and adapting, he said,_' Chrome mused, drowsiness preventing her mind from gathering any more details. Her head full of meaningless blank, she recklessly threw herself off the bed and onto her feet, instinctively cringing at the sharp objects usually on the floor, before feeling soft carpet and chiding herself. With a quick glance at the digital clock by her bed, she realized that it was already just past eleven and her stomach reacted rather accordingly, having not been satisfied for nearly an entire day.

She prepared for the day in a rather dazed manner, dressing and walking barefoot to the restrictive kitchen and pouring a bowl of some nondescript, generic frosted cereal. As her clouded thoughts cleared, Chrome realized they were still all the same; more thoughts of her mental inhabitant, his words of advice and instruction, and how she should work towards them, but, alas, they were of little use, her thoughts as productive as filling a sieve with sand; they would well up for a moment, and then drift back into the ground, but still with nothing recognizable.

Why the day angered Chrome so much, she could not tell. Perhaps it was her master's recovering from his illness, her inability to think, or the events clouding her mind, but regardless, by the time she had stepped foot outside of the door, her mental state was primed to bursting; anything negative said towards her would likely push her to lashing out.

Humans stretched out before her like flattened lines, ubiquitous, worthless, simple scenery. Normally the white sun would have brightened her mood, but today it was little more than a light source, as her weary eyes rested upon the dark of business suits and shadows as she simply wandered, drifting across the crowds with not a single personal possession. There was not a voice to distract her as she sat mute upon a bridge's lip for the entire day as if she were a young child again, blissfully unaware of her father's greed or mother's vain narcissism and content to ponder life thoughts in the reflection of the gray water as she was sure innumerable beings before her had, and found the exact same inexplicable fascination with the fluid and ever-changing, reflective and obscuring substance, but what truly struck her is how unchanging it was. No matter how many eons Chrome decided to gaze upon the water, not once would there be a single ripple more than if she were dust.

And that is what impressed her about Mukuro. He was hidden to a degree where, though she may not be able to see the bottom, could penetrate further than any others, but he had never changed his true self. His nature was again the same as he shifted his surface, his appearances. Always like mist; perhaps he could engage with others who were the same, but anything more solid, he dominated, and anything less corporeal was of no importance. But it was done without effort at all, he simply drifted along the currents and took what he was given. She could not tolerate one so callous as to impose himself upon others' wills without permission, yet neither one so concerned that he could not change the actions and thoughts of others. But, as Chrome reminded herself again, such thoughts would not have come into existence without him reviving her, it was more than likely her preferences had formed after such extensive interaction with him.

Her mind seemed almost like it was a blank tape as her thoughts flattened, liquefying and flatlining as she looked again at the water, watching the unusually full moon arc across the water, hours passing like several minutes to her overly stressed brain, which eased itself as her stony expression softened into a relaxed smile. The most obvious sensation she felt sitting upon the concrete was the passive but intense feeling of ease and pleasure as cool wind sifted through the long strands of hair across her brow, rolling up her forearms and legs, spreading across the bare skin of her navel.

It was already, however, to the point where her single-thought concentration had left her; the sparse few footsteps distracted Chrome gradually more and more as they became rarer. Finally, as she glanced down to a golden-black watch did she shake herself from the reverie that had pleasurably overtaken her. The time was right if she were to make it to school at her normal seven-twenty; the three hands indicating a recent half past nine. Accordingly, the moon was naught more than a coin in the sky compared to its relative massiveness earlier; how much so was unknown.

With a minute sigh, Chrome boosted herself off of her long-time chair and quickly clung to it again as the sensation of being incredibly lightheaded overtook her brain momentarily. As her senses rushed back to her, she looked again at where she had been sitting; a veritable piece of Venice in the nondescript town; a stone and granite walkway with similar brick pavement flanked on both sides by restaurants with strewn tables. She took the slightest inappropriate moment in such darkness to reflect upon the scenery; it was not like Japan anymore in her mind, but rather like the floating city. Perhaps that particular feature of the island town is why Mukuro had decided to look for her there, he could have lived in Venice as a child, or, dare she think it, in a past life. As she thought back, even the climate must have been similar, seeing as mostly the same parallels ran through Italy as well as Japan- no small coincidence, she remarked.

And with such thought so condensed, Chrome peered across the restaurants yet again, seeing some sort of cleaning boy open the door of the waterside eatery, and hearing no few exclamations as the heavy metal door shut quickly. She smiled; it was always enjoyable to see another person who could also take a break from the quickness and cause-and-effect of normal life to watch an unchangeable force like the water.

Without any other valid excuses to dither, Chrome took a final glance at the currents before she turned on her heel and jogged back to her home, with the lantern lights guiding her back to the quiet relief of home.

.

As her watch struck ten and twelve, Chrome reached for her keys and unlocked the door- home had never seemed quite so, well, mundane after her deep thought. Realistically, not much had changed between her and Mukuro- he had imparted wisdom upon her, as he was rather wont, but perhaps it was her evolution that changed the opinion. As he had pointed out; she could see through his actions unlike before, and his approval, his positive touch admittedly stroked her underwhelming self-esteem. It was like a warm badge she kept within herself, a constant warmth that she could always recall.

That was, though, the limit. She was not Levi; she did not work for praise, though it was a more than suitable reward when it came from Mukuro, but only because she held him in far higher regard than any other. The reward from anything else was the simple achievement she gained in her mind knowing that her vision was clearer than before, that she could see what once was invisible to her and that she was enlightened to the previously hidden facet of knowledge. Still, it was valuable and something she would hold within herself, but she resolved to not let her pride affect her perception, to be a whetstone to hone her concentration rather than to dull it with bloated arrogance.

Chrome walked, rather dazed, to her kitchen, far too worn with thought to do much more than sleep. Luckily only the kitchen light was on; she would have been loathe to walk around the apartment and waste power. Feeling very much like a typical man, she skipped the preliminary refrigerator-check, instead opening the freezer to a carton of overpriced, imported ice cream, which, she admitted, was one of the few things that she could certainly not afford personally. A mental image of her eating Mukuro's bills caused her to giggle uncontrollably momentarily and nearly drop the red and cream container, and the image stayed in her head as she took a spoon from the utensil drawer, delicately cleaving a half-spoonful of rum raisin each bite, as she walked happily towards her bedroom, again miraculously devoid of any litter.

At that, she recalled the person who paid, weekly, for the ice cream currently melting atop her tongue. With help from both feet, she slipped the boots from her feet to rest beside the bed and silently thanked Mukuro for cleaning her room and leaving a little sign of his presence, a design in the frame of her bed directly above her head, two detailed, if hastily done wings, quite real. With a release of breath, she drew her frame into the soft bedding, putting her daily hygiene behind well needed rest, sleeping to the gentle pressure of Mukuro's touch and the fierce joy at being able to keep up with his expectations.

X

Oh gods, I broke my 2000 promise already, apologies. Here's the explanation; I wrote about 500 words on the 22nd or so, had fencing camp for a week and didn't write much until today, and I realize that I write in spurts, so it may take another week for me to put something up, and it would be stupid for me to waste your authorship time. Anyways, the words in this chapter just break 1700, so my apologies for breaking such an early thing. *miniature bow* Anyways, I should be more free to write and converse with my lovely beta, Whisper of Echo, coincidentally enough, my first reviewer, which is a now not-so-subtle hint for readers to drop me a review if you'd like, as I'll probably appreciate your words more than you would think. By the way, anyone ever take a look at my author ID? I felt pretty special to have, no lie, 1**96**9**69**2. Anyways, best wishes to all and my apologies for not having more interaction between the two and Mukuro's perspective, this day was supposed to be a Chrome-centric one either way. Good night, readers, I need my rest. It is now 3:47 AM in Houston, and hopefully you enjoy my labor.


	3. Act I, C III

Chapter III

Written in completely Mukuro's perspective as a contrast to Chrome's, now on his personal musings as he thinks to himself and interacts with her. I have learned that unabashed fluff = reviews, apparently.

Control was the one thing Mukuro had to rely on. Whether he was an inch from death's recurring grip or speaking with Chrome, he would lose himself without self-control, and be more of a killing machine than a plotting mastermind. It was, to him, what separated the strong humans from the weak, yet another reason that he should be disappointed with her, handing all of her control to him whenever the situation arose, never asking him for instruction on how to control her personal illusions.

Yet he could not bring himself to do such a thing. She was a girl, a feeble one if that, but only on the surface. It was a mix- the admiration of her fierce protectiveness, coupled with just the smallest hint of jealousy, at her innocence and fortune at learning all that he knew, without the same misfortune. Being physically so similar, even malnourished, awoke that sick feeling of empathy in his stomach from his life with the Estraneo. The very thought of pity disgusted him, and it was again in shame that he admitted he was not as judicious with his thoughts as he knew he should be. Day and night, without cease, Mukuro had no escape other than his thoughts; every moment was devoted to recovering, to opening his eyes from the blank wetness of his cell.

And it was with little surprise that he had simply frustrated himself sometimes, with no new information his sanity gradually eroded along with his body, his only respite the few stolen moments that he had to teach Chrome and check up on her.

'_How weak of you. Still wasting your energy on that girl after the illusions when you could be escaping,_' scoffed his omnipresent cynicism. '_Stupid, rash actions like that are what put, and keep, you in this prison, you damned idiot,_' it berated further, to his chagrin. Recently, the cynicism had been less of a bitter medicine and much more a malignant tumor, which, ever-expanding, interfered in gradually more of his thoughts with growing consistency.

The growing insanity within him was often counterproductive- which, perhaps, was what caused his true insanity of performing actions purely against his spite and reasoning, and though not for such a purpose, found it increasingly easy to do. Again his newfound thought provoked him to leave the Vendicare for now, to abandon his earthly restraints.

With a shift in mindset, he searched deep within his mind for the mark of his vessel, across oceans and thousands of miles until a soft presence made itself felt within him like a feather upon a carpet, yet it was a faint sensation, as if his senses were numbed from sleep. But without further issue, Mukuro's consciousness left him for an instant, reappearing again as the body of his prime- long, spiked amethyst hair which he likely would never have again, but more importantly the iron-hard muscle which he certainly would never have again.

But his visit was not to admire himself, instead to see Chrome and liberate himself from the darkness. And speaking of the devil, she was unsurprisingly laying upon the bed, eyes closed in deep sleep, having removed her eyepatch in slumber. With her hair let loose and figure so relaxed and natural, he could not help but be warmed within, effused with a quickening feeling that rested within his chest. A rather, well, unnatural feeling to him, which he sated in his imagination- a pure fantasy of her sleeping in the same peaceful way, yet in stead of a mattress and pillow, laying within the crook of his arm and curve of his chest as he stroked her blued tresses, keeping the pure soul his willing captive.

And Mukuro did not lie to himself. He knew quite well that if he willed Chrome to stay with him forever that there would not be a forthcoming protest and she would happily live with him forever. But the feeling was not mutual- his flaw again to living with anyone else was his individuality and lack of attachment- she would be scarred completely if he simply left without notice or, perhaps, at all. This was the reason that Mukuro did not endeavor to spend every day with her- to wean her from her need of him and allow her to blossom into an independent person; if a lotus stayed beneath the water it would simply wither and decay, and so far she had been doing perfectly. The only flaw was his penchant to take personal whims into account and take intimate contact with her, yet the touch was so welcoming and gentle that there was no possibility of resistance on his end.

During these brief span of thoughts, Mukuro quickly realized that he was still observing Chrome's facial features, more specifically, lips. Taken a bit aback at himself and what was being triggered by such an observation, he decided that it would be a capital time for him to leave and take a stretch of the unused muscles with a walk to, if he remembered correctly, the town's library. Perhaps memorizing literature would relieve some of his boredom, and he had always had a curiosity and slight respect for authors who could in their books accurately and dramatically portray life with composed words, but personal emotions.†

X

Mukuro marveled at the excess of this building compared to ordinary Japanese buildings. Only two stories with massive floor area, yet likely the height of a six-story apartment building, with six feet of stairs leading to the entrance flanked by columns, all in a non-flamboyant cream and steel coloring. But without further musings, he entered the two pairs of sliding door to a remarkably relaxed interior. A large children's section on the left with an absent librarian, checkout stations on the right, and a flight of stairs directly in front of him. He had never yet been to a place where the younger were put in front of the adult, and he was pleasantly surprised by this.

He made his way towards the stairwell without a particular destination, but he supposed that fiction would not interest him at the moment, whereas it was likely Mukuro could have written some of the history books. Poetry, he decided.

Conveniently enough, the section names were hung from the ceilings, so finding himself to the section took only a second of walking past many bookshelves. Of course, the choices were so numerous it was unlikely that he would find the same thing twice- he resolved to find something to pique his interest, to perhaps ponder on in confinement. Fortunately or not so, as befitting such a kind of author, the spines were varied and ranged from wildly unusual to mundane text. After being nearly discouraged from the books merging into a block of color within his vision, Mukuro blinked his eyes clear of blurriness and reached out with a veined rubber glove to find purchase in a rather quaintly sized collection in a black-dyed, leather binding entitled _Love's Affectations_, by a writer under the pseudonym Albrych.

The book itself seemed to push him to open it. Amidst golden diamonds hatched across the cover was a red lotus, as if it meant to have him open it. Peculiar symbolism, Mukuro mused. Without a glance at the opening, he randomly chose a page- arriving on a poem.

Strangely, the pages seemed to be copies of handwritten text, although it was in English lettering. Across the center of the page was a single-word title: "Leaving". His eyes scanned the words, in muted surprise and absorption.

He sits outside, shivering from the frost,

No one to speak, the dark void surrounding.

Out of sight, out of mind, he was so lost.

Floating in the sea, with no real grounding.

None hear his silent pleas for companion,

Nor the life dripping from his heart, his soul,

For his pride gagged him, crossing a canyon,

So he kept silent, time taking its toll;

But this time there is no bright horizon;

Instead a black curtain, to draw up his front,

His pride put away, death the quick siphon.

The regrets unheard, pity an affront,

All the boy wanted was a faithful friend,

Now she left, and her ego was his end.

And a footnote, scribbled in.

_Written after she had been made to leave without notice, and my intentions were the most unsure._

The irony of the words and his own situation Mukuro could not help but notice. The sonnet cast a rather somber, yet overly heroic tint on the situation, but his interest was inexplicably piqued. Noticing the dates of other pieces, he noted them to be in chronological order. Truly, then, this was more of a pseudo-biography than a simple poetry collection- and this captured him.

_Perhaps one more_, he relented, this time backtracking several pages to a similarly styled poem. Entitled "Refuge", and something that Mukuro's smiled bitterly at. _How diametric_, was the simplest thought that ran through his mind, and how he was far on the wrong side of the words.

Cruelty and apathy, two twin sins;

They serve naught but the basest savages

Whose lives are solely of clipping white wings,

Only the hatred marks their ravages.

Time or not, we have not lost either one.

Both remain, hidden always in plain sight.

Poor man who sees they're lost, an absent sun,

The dead martyr who has wasted her light.

Waste no time for these in eternal dusk;

You are an infinitely better one

Than their entirety, worthless husks.

But I resolve that from none shall I run.

Whether it is night, daylight, any time;

Those who desire aid have started the climb.

It was almost worth a laugh, knowing that he was interested in what seemed like a benevolent fool. Perhaps he was an earth trapped demon desiring to seduce a virgin and strip her innocence, the cruel habit of finding such pleasure in senseless destruction, the evil passion of violation that attracted him to her, such a flawless soul that he had subjected wholly to himself with her own consent.

But even such a man such as he could not simply defile the innocent and stay unchanged, lest he was a truly soulless, inhuman creature. It was such that were the repercussions of the struggle to exist yet again outside of his own mortal shell, to break free of the unjust bonds placed upon him. All enacted upon him by a corrupt organization of cutthroats and banded murderers with a truly ironic sense of justice. The Mafia always was _per sanguinem, de sanguine_- through blood, of blood. And yet they would slaughter the Estraneo as if they were less than the disgusting savages they were themselves, all the while convincing themselves that they were something better, the exterminating guardians of the underworld. Yet they themselves never stopped to consider what the underworld was itself, and then they would realize; the mafiosi who so adamantly killed others so beneath them were in fact just the same. There was no doubt in Mukuro's mind that if it were necessary for a dying Vongola family to survive that they would sacrifice children. Iemitsu's attitude as external adviser made it obvious- his son was not _his_ son, he was the _family's_ son. And if that meant he had to beat him to death with his own hands for the Ninth, then so be it. Whether or not there were kinder subordinates was of little matter- the ones following the leader was always the rule, not the exception.

With this, the thought-struck illusionist closed his eyes, falling back upon the bookshelves in exhaustion. His mind was so fraught with constant darkness, it was the precise reason that he needed a break from his thoughts. Placing his hand upon his brow, he sighed and paused for a moment, taking a moment to collect his breath and thought. The cool, conditioned air settled in his lungs as he pushed himself, hard, from the ground with only Chrome in mind.

X

† Not intending to praise myself, they're just also my thoughts which I believe that Mukuro would likely have.

Anyways, it would be quite nice if you would take some time out of your day and leave a nice review for me to read, because I really do read all of them, the fact that there are only four notwithstanding. Perhaps a poke into the direction of the story, or something that resonated with you, something you like. The poems were written by me, as poetry is one of my other literary skills. Hope that you enjoyed the chapter as well and that I may get a few words for the new chapter, eh?

I also am quite sure that ten days shall be a reasonable update time. Things may change this chapter, as I will be gone from the 15th-22nd to a fencing camp at a university, no less, but I shall bring along my trusty and rather durable laptop with me. I don't really do any rewriting, so please tell me if it would be a good idea, so I could do some polishing. Otherwise, until the next review!

-Albert


	4. Act II, C I

Act II: Benefactor

Chapter I

Plot twists. Written as Mukuro's perspective and search.

The sudden jerk from the ground was, alas, little more than a self-assuring push. For the strangest reason, Chrome was difficult to detect; as if Mukuro's senses were swathed in a heavy blanket- he had never actually searched for her in a physical manner, it was always mental in his ways of finding his innocent host. The lack of being able to track someone like her compounded with his inability to escape from the Vendicare put him to shame- Mukuro could do little but clench his gloved hand into a white-knuckled fist in frustration. Logic told him that he could simply walk around and feel Chrome more closely, but the flickering of a candle he felt would not increase in intensity- it was already so weak that it was hardly even noticeable- too late, he now realized.

Mukuro had little time for thought as he slipped the contemporary tome into the pockets of his jacket and left the entrance covered with illusory invisibility. The most obvious place to search was, of course, the school. Having transferred to Namimori, there was no excuse for the pitiful Mafia boss to not even know the general whereabouts of his family; his abode was the first target. There was no faster option than running- he put away his trident and moved with every bit of speed as people, cars, buildings melted into opacity on the way to his destination.

As he moved, thoughts again invaded his mind of vague, hardly visible emotions- they weighed his legs like metal beads- each insignificant but with such a quantity, his mind was fogged by the multitude of thoughts. Mukuro paid each thought no heed, turning his mind from the thoughts. They were not unfamiliar, rather unwelcome. With each closing second, the grey stone of the Sawada home grew more noticeable- until finally, he was but a step from the gate- drawing back his arm, Mukuro smashed his arm into the center bar; the metal shrieked and burst open. Not a step was lost as he forced his legs to move him across the manicured lawn and rammed into the house's door.

The heavy wooden portal stood a twig's resistance, the sheer force and weight of the door itself causing it to snap free of the hinges and land a meter past the doorway. There was a high pitched squeal that erupted from a couch, but it was not worth notice. Stepping with more discretion, Mukuro heard the panicked scuffling of, presumably, the juvenile boss himself.

Without a hint, the sound quickly stopped. Mukuro gritted his teeth in anger and impatience, silently walking towards the source of the noise and kicking the door open. Inside was a sight he would never forget.

The boss's jutting brown hair, hidden beneath both hands as he cowered beside the bed which he had just rolled off. It was obvious he knew exactly why Mukuro Rokudo had rampaged through his home.

Perhaps a piece of the very hells he had traveled through was captured within his heart. Mukuro's body was motionless, and his head dipped down as his eyes closed. The sense of disappointment rolled across his body like a cold wave of sea. When his eyes both opened again, the demonic iris was an easily visible 'four'. The royal blue of the flame had instead contracted, within the deepest core emerging a core of bloodred crimson. Fire flickered in and out as he leveled a stare without a hint of accusation, but the remnants of the confusion of the new emotions he had developed.

Tsuna's eyes may have been crucified to Mukuro's, as if he were a worthless pigeon that merely had time to realize his death as an eagle tore him into bloodied feathers. The one thing that the boss of the family could feel was unending killing intention from Mukuro. He opened his mouth harshly, haltingly in an uncharacteristic manner of himself.

"You call yourself the inheritor of a family, one so worthless as to hide from the first hint of danger while guarded by a wall of devoted? It is not necessary for me to express what you should receive. Know this- if you dare allow a member of your family to die so willingly-," and, with that, withdrew his trident and without any formality drove three steel prongs diagonally downwards into the boy's heart, stomach, and navel- an expression of disbelief and shock dominated the mafioso's face-

Mukuro, with no small amount of vindictiveness, kicked him hard in the ribs, allowing the nearly real illusion to melt away once it was obvious that no information about Chrome's whereabouts were to be given.

'_Such anger..,' _his cynical side jeered, stoking the heat of harsh protectiveness burning within his veins- a remark he promptly brushed off, turning on his heel and leaving the house. The anger was simple in cause- Tsuna was the boss of his family and based off the way he reacted, he must have known Chrome was gone, yet simply ignored the face. Such a man would never gain his respect, in combat or otherwise. 

Mukuro's composure left him for the barest of seconds, a lance through armor; every thought, worry of her being harmed, the pure evil one would need to do such a thing, rattled through his chest with the cold of a thousand winters, breath constricted in his throat as shock rippled within him.

His breath came in chopped pieces as the full realization dawned within; Chrome, so close to his heart, would be but a lifeless shell and he himself would be confined to the depths of a submerged cell until it became his grave. And then, the horrors of the next realm for an eternity of eternities awaited- his greatest regret that he could not repent his actions to Chrome, or to anyone. Rokudo Mukuro would die alone, with not a single bit of control over his fate. A pointless, unfulfilled existence.

It would have been so easy to take away Chrome; as he himself knew. He pictured it in his mind- a young boy asked her to come play while she returned from school, led the girl like a sheep to a secluded basement, while well-prepared thugs would steal the trident at gunpoint- and then violate her, slit her throat; a young girl who had never seen the true evils of the world.

And the only new emotion he felt was indignation.

Incredulity of how he himself had become so foolish as to allow his life to hang by the same of some girl, however unique, anger at the one who took her which overflowed his spirit, and by extension, his flames. Pale purple flared into translucent indigo around his eye, his vision taking on the hue. Flickers of color dotted his sight beyond the boundaries of walls, but not any ordinary colors; they were of flames themselves. With no more than a bit of focus, Mukuro managed to bring the colors down to only that of mist- no more than a handful lined his vision.

'_Interesting.. how similar to the fabled Devil Lens. This should prove useful,_' Mukuro mused, noting the layer of mist and storm over his eye. '_How ironic. Construction, coupled with disintegration?_' Other thoughts aside, he noted the amount of energy streaming out of his body- suddenly realizing how he would find Chrome. A rush of relief overtook his body, coupled with a dreadful anxiety from within his breast. With few other options, Rokudo Mukuro dashed through the streets, nothing more than a windy spectre to any observer.

X

The temperature was the first sign. Contrary to the humid warmth of the rest of the region, for what seemed like a mile around the meadow surrounding Chrome's location, the air was as cold as the Vendicare, as if there was invisible snow around Mukuro's body. Aggravated, the caster remembered that the lens box was with Chrome, as there was no way that he could consistently carry it. Out of sheer curiosity, he recalled the similar feature of mist and storm-

And nearly ran straight into a building. He skidded to a halt, toe brushing against stone as wariness overtook him. Fortunately, the simple magnitude of the area made masking the entire thing in illusions impossible, however, that someone was able to cast such a feat was already impressive. By this point Mukuro had decided simply manifesting himself around Chrome was an incredibly badly thought idea, instead assuming that he was already being watched and casting a counter-illusion was the safest idea. He reacquired his trail of mist flames- they seemed to be entering the very thing he had nearly smashed himself into, a simple brick-enclosed area the size of a room. So, in fact, it was not a building, but instead, as he conjured supports from mist and climbed over-

X

So, apologies about the long update most of all. As I was very tired from fencing every day, I had to sleep early and by proxy did not write any. All of this was done since two days ago and some today. My airplane to Beijing is boarding now, in fact, so that is why I had to create a cliffhanger. If I can get a network after my 15 hour flight, I will update ASAP.


	5. Act II, C II

Act II

Chapter II

Movement inwards, and retrieval is not rescue. A long chapter.

Mukuro took a moment to spy over the walls; a stunning sight awaited him in the open square past the gates.

Chrome's trident, clad with its engraved pewter ornament was easily recognized with all three of the tips planted solidly into the ground in the center of the opening. This, however, was not what shocked him- instead, it was the indigo viper that cracked its maw as if it were a leviathan of the realm of beasts. His first reaction was far from fear, rather, interest. There was little doubt that no other human had used transmigration as he had to acquire illusory or summoning powers, for this it must have been something else entirely.

Mukuro studied the scene intently with the lens, nearly certain that the snake was simply a coincidental illusion. And to his relief- it was. Yet as he noticed of his own illusions that led him to Chrome, the trident itself was leaking flames of mist into the illusory construct- leaving him a single obvious choice, and little time to consider another as the reptilian beast lunged its head towards him.

'_Now, what to do with the trident?_' the pondering illusionist had little time to wonder as he jumped into the fifty foot area.

The snake, or illusionist behind it, must have hardly expected him to simply attack- as the snake hesitated, Mukuro did not- lashing out with a blade of mist extending from his palms and slashing directly through the serpentine mouth of the beast. Its killer was immersed in cold searing his skin as viscous blood drenched him from crown of head to the bottom of his spine; the exhilaration of making a single decisive strike surged overpowering his sense of touch and nearly sight. Giddy from success, the voice so muted in the moment, shouted within his mind, an unheeded warning as her reached out with a confident hand and grasped the shaft of the other trident that held the string of Chrome's out of reach life from the scissors of the Fates themselves.

And fortunately, the air was as still as it was before. The ground was free from the vibration of some sort of trap, as he weighed the longer, thinner trident in his hand and marveled at its lightness; with how much training that Mukuro underwent daily, the trident sang to him as if it were to sway in the wind if he did not hold it in his cherishing grip. His fingers caressed the ebony, recalling the quiet solitude, yet innocent excitement as he sat quietly in a candle lit room from his old family, away from the rest of the world while he toiled in that workshop, cutting and polishing the ebony to an optimum and perfectly uniform thickness, and then imbuing the spikes with his hardest flames of mist so that Chrome could have the most powerful weapon that an illusionist could hope for.

The familiar weapon graced his hands with the lilting memory of her gripping the trident, sweating and occasionally bleeding while practicing for tireless hours every day; all in pursuit of becoming a perfect vassal for him. How dangerous she could have been, within the hands of another; she was a flawless tool, even.

For that, Mukuro berated himself. Perhaps she did act like such a willing tool, it was only because _he_ had intruded into her mind and saved her life as she was certain to die. It meant nothing of being easily controlled, it instead meant that she was grateful and gave gratitude where it was due. That she had a great respect for him obviously influenced the decision., but it was no different, he reasoned, than a boy saved from cancer to work towards being a physician. The fact that she was an attractive girl and he had gone through many hells made little difference, simply that she was indebted to him, and would be willing to serve him even if she were not.

And that is where his logic twisted to an end. Why, then, would he feel inclined to touch her when she was away, to patronize and scold her playfully, but worry so for her safety, or her to never give up when she learned, to try and surpass his expectations even if she would hurt herself? It was obviously not the case of her simply being a zealous student, that was obvious. But instead, an attachment that Mukuro did not care to hazard a guess upon. But instead, something that struck him with an unheard-of fear.

The realization crept up on his neck, a stoppered breeze of sensation. He was attached to her, and her absence, or, even worse, her death, would be more painful than any physical injury that he could suffer. He would lose a pupil, true, but beyond that he would also lose his only link to the outside world and someone who, while not completely understanding him, knew how to console and make him happy. If nothing else, his caretaker, yet an equal to him, a confounding thought.

All of his thoughts, however, had him only hesitating. The would-be rescuer stared blankly at the ground, thoughts still as empty as the ground before him. His body an oil slick awaiting a bursting spark of inspiration- which came in a torrent of determination.

Mukuro's body finally relaxed, his mind again at peace. The solution was not difficult- in fact, he himself knew exactly what was to be done; find Chrome. And that very thought was all he needed- not to destroy any obstacle in his way in a bloody rampage, but simply to find her. The rest was simply irrelevant; he himself would not be conscious to save her if someone did not keep her alive, although, as he felt, weaker than she had ever been.

A resounding wooden 'thud' was easily audible as Mukuro stomped the ground beneath him- a trapdoor.

'_Unheard of, what a surprise,_' came the obvious thought as he spun the trident, tip earthwards as they were thrust with incredible force through the very ground and Mukuro's body fell for but a flash- the tunnel was barely sufficient for him to fit within while standing, tall as he was, while the egregiously bright sunlight searing into the pitch-black tunnel, making his presence all the more obvious. This was undoubtedly the least thought-out plan conducted in a decade, yet it was of little concern. Shrugging aside the damage already done, he assessed the area. Nothing in the way that he came from but a solid wall of earth, while the tunnels were covered with thick logs and supported by metal shafts, all in conspicuously rusted condition, with rail tracks on the floor.

Walking silently yet again in quick, light steps, Mukuro's ears were trained for the slightest bit of sound in the desolate mine. For several minutes he kept his crouched, rolling steps to the point where all hints of sunlight were long gone from his sight, which was completely adjusted to the absolute darkness. From his sense of direction, the path was devoid of deviations, but drifted ever so slightly to the left side.

After another hundred steps, a chilling vision beheld him. A macabre human skeleton with a soft, motionless lantern within the hollow skull hung, nailed, immediately in front of him. But it was the angle that struck a long-forgotten chord within him; the sockets of the skull were trained directly upon him, as if the gaping mouth sensed him from the cloak of darkness surrounding him.

With that, a curse rang within his mind- it was simply an implanted illusion!

Mukuro dispelled it from his head in an instant- battling the fear of what truly awaited as the skeleton disappeared from his sight, instead leaving the lantern that lazily cast light, stealing gasps of oxygen from the inner tunnel.

And then, in a flat-footed instant, the lantern frame dropped, almost slower than reality to the hard floor- and shattered.

Time abruptly rushed forwards when a trio of clothed swordsmen sprang forth at Mukuro from the darkness, leaving him an instant to draw and parry three crossed and far heavier blades, nearly dropping the weapon. With smallsword in hand, he baited the lead swordsman, a tall adult easily twenty years his senior. The man came forward with a wide sweep; to no avail as Mukuro lunged during the backswing tip first into his aorta. Using his still-moving arms as shields from the others' swings, he coldly pulled the blade back straight through the man's chest and engaged the others. They wisely chose to take opposite sides- but their tactics would not save them from lack of skill. Not wanting to die a hasty death, the pair forced him backwards at blade point, anticipating an opening, which Mukuro gave, opening his guard-

Only to hop back and make a razor cut across the knuckles of the blade that entered within a centimeter of injuring him. He didn't scream, Mukuro noted coldly. He would, but whether from death or fear was not important; The trash who harmed Chrome deserved to die a hundred deaths. His partner slashed for his arm, but with such an obvious telegraph, the Italian instinct overtook him, as, machinelike, Mukuro trapped the blade in a counterclockwise circle, and with a single step forward, pierced through the abdomen with an upwards thrust.

With only himself remaining and nowhere to run, the final fighter dropped the European sword and placed his hand on the hilt of a katana, which he was obviously more familiar with. This was obviously the most dangerous of the three, taking a practiced wide, crouched stance. Mukuro found himself enjoying combat again, even if it was with mere humans. As precaution, he checked the man's element- to his surprise, he held a large capacity of Rain flames, which also were conducted onto the blade.

"Oya? You're no fool," Mukuro commented as he coated his own weapon with mist. The enemy swordsman gave him little pause, taking a lightning-quick uppercut with the false edge- he exploded forwards with a horizontal attack that landed solidly, tearing a gash across the manifested torso. Mukuro gritted his teeth as he returned with a forceful slash that the opponent evaded. He retreated several steps, reminding himself of his training. A two-handed weapon was never as versatile as a single-handed, because the parries that one could guard with were halved from sixteen to eight. But of course, they had the advantage in power, making up sometimes for the loss in distance and control.

"What a disgrace, ambushing me with such a weak weapon," he called out, gauging the reaction. An immediate step with attack followed, a barbaric false cleave- but Mukuro saw through the ruse. It was no attack in anger, but a crafted deception. There was no comforting slowing-of-time; the opponent turned the blade and thrust straight forward towards his stomach; the illusionist took a step outwards with his back foot, avoiding the incoming hit and holding the blade downwards to parry in _prime_, rotating and driving his own sword forwards, but due to the twisting of the samurai-like fighter, there was only a minor wound inflicted upon the chest.

Mist was construction, whereas Rain represented tranquility. Thus, to combat another, one would simply reverse the tactics. The constant, raging attacks of the Storm element made this the most possible, but the deception and misdirection of mist would take more skill to manipulate. Finally starting to become serious, Mukuro switched realms from the ubiquitous Asura to Hell itself, starting the counterattack with two layers of illusion; an obvious false strike to the heart, combined with a real illusory attack to the throat. As predicted, the swordsman took the parry to block both strikes- leaving him free to activate the realm of Demons- with a single, lethally placed strike directly beneath his foe's arm, he was impaled through the heart and other arm. Rokudo Mukuro paused for a moment, appreciating the interesting challenge and sliding the blood from the blade with a rolling wave of solid flame.

X

I shall make my apologies now for such a late chapter. My laptop charger was lost in China, making me unable to write for weeks and it took me a long time to get back into the habit. But here is another chapter that I hope is enjoyed (with the originally 666-word scene written beforehand) and promises to continue my ten-day rule. Again, my greatest apologies. I have utmost hope that this chapter came out better than before and too many have not abandoned my story.


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